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Keego Sunrise
Physical Description The first thing people notice about Keego is his height, which is ample. The second is his smile, which is permanently etched into a corner of his mouth. Keego is a Nautolan. His skin is deep green; his eyes are large, and black. His jaw is long and comes to a decided point beneath his mouth. Beneath his face large, square shoulders give way to a long torso and sinewy arms. His voice is deep, musical, and inviting, like a bass clarinet. Clothing Eschewing the more heavily-armored Jedi apparel of the day, Keego opts for a loose, long robe, hand-stitched of simple brown cloth. Personality Amiable and inviting, Keego laughs more than your average Jedi. He is given to open displays of affection, and has even shed a tear or two over a particularly moving section of Nautolan music. On that note, he is a lover of music, particularly his own species’ unique combination of long sustained notes and irregular pauses; music which he has the good sense not to subject others too. Don’t let his good nature fool you though – Keego is as sharp as they come and loves a good debate. In fact, his aptitude to play devil’s advocate sometimes alienates his friends, who came to him looking for support. A natural leader, Keego willingly takes the reins in everything from battle and dogfighting to conversation and music. Biography Being inside of the high loft felt like being underwater. The walls, carpeting, furniture was all blue; the music drifted from the other room like whale songs. Even the windows opened onto water, for it was raining hard and unforgivably on this bleak Coruscant afternoon. The tall Nautolan woman who stood by the window seemed, at a glance, to blend into the dark walls, so blue was her skin. Her eyes, unfocused, took in all of the cityscape at a glance: the hard stitching of the buildings against the sky; the thousands of shuttles and transports filled with the thousands of inhabitants who were perennially late; the green lights of the landing pads, blinking like heart monitors to the unceasing pulse of the city. Keego would be two soon, she thought, and this was no place for a child. She sighed, and went in the other room to draw a bath. She awoke several hours later on her bed; she felt empty, yet focused. She stood up from the bed, and for a moment, she felt not the carpet, so plush, so synthetic, beneath her feet, but rather the cool stones of her homeworld. Then there was a knock at the door. She opened her eyes, drew her robe around her, and walked over to Keego’s crib. She kissed him gently, then walked into the main room. At the door stood a Jedi Master of middle age, his salt-and-pepper beard covering a round face. He had dark brown eyes that understood without intruding. His robes glistened with the rain. “Miss Noxun-Callumbrus, I am Master Kori Nomstarr. May I come in?” he said, in a delicate voice. She looked him up and down, then nodded. He followed her into the other room, where he stood. The Nautolan sat down on her sofa, and let a moment pass without saying anything. “I know why you’re here,” she said in a cool, clear voice. “You want Keego.” “Ma’am, your son’s destiny is of great importance. He has a powerful connection to the Force. He will do great things.” First my husband’s assassination attempt, and now this, she thought. I just want it all to end. “I know he will,” she said. “Please, for his sake, let me take him,” he said. “I heard about what happened to your husband. Keego… it is not safe for him here.” “Keego is my son,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you can keep your destinies. I want my child.” With that, they said goodbye, and the Jedi stepped back out into the rain of Coruscant, a look of concern on his face. A year passed, and the lives in the Callumbrus family continued much as they had before: Shee, with her voice as beautiful as the million stars, would sing in packed theaters and Opera houses; her husband, Quall, would travel all over, trying to piece back together the Republic through talk, and negotiations. Once or twice in a month, they would both be back on Coruscant, where they would make love for hours, pretending each other’s body to be the crashing waves of the world they both missed so much. Then, something occurred. Keego’s mother was touring, performing the acclaimed Opera The Mermaid and the Brigand. By chance, she was touring to the world of Glee Anslem, where she and her husband were born. Coincidentally, Keego’s father Quall would have this time off as well. “The Senate is not convening for a few days,” he said. So they decided to return to their homeworld. They had even arranged for Keego to travel with his nursemaid to meet them there; but circumstances were not favorable, and Keego became violently ill several days before his passage. No matter, they both thought, he will see it again, when he is older. So, with gladdened hearts, the two booked passage to their home of sea and sky. “Let us be cheap, like we were when we were younger,” Quall suggested. “I’d love nothing more,” Shee assented, having learned long ago that to keep him happy, she must go along with his romantic side. They booked passage on a third-class freight liner headed near Glee Anslem, and they departed from Coruscant on a windy, rainy day much like the one etched into Shee’s memory, when her husband and son were both almost taken from her; one, by Sith poison; one, by the Jedi. The cheap freight hurtled through space, and Quall was asleep, his head on his wife’s shoulder. He was dreaming about water. Shee was chewing a package of nuts and reading a book on the art of fighting with daggers. Two compartments behind this scene of contentedness, a Zabrak man dressed in black waited, stuffed between two large boxes of what smelled like Bantha dung. His training had prepared him for much, and he had chosen this hiding place not in spite of, but for, its offending smell. He gripped the rounded thing, no larger than a billiard ball, in his hand, and felt the cool smooth metal of the thermal detonator, the force waiting so patiently, so silently, inside. Then the ship lurched, and he knew the ship had jumped to Hyperspace. The agent slipped out. He made his way silently through the middle compartment, between the passengers with scared weak faces huddled together for warmth against the disdainful world. He loathed them; they were weak, they were easily killed. They were what he fought to ascend from, to perfect himself. In the compartment in front of him, the Nautolan diplomat stirred on his wife’s shoulder but did not wake: now he dreamed he was drowning. The agent reached the compartment, and he saw his mark. There were few lights on, as most of the passengers were deep in fitful sleep, so he walked casually down the aisle. He dropped the thermal detonator, with an off-handed flick, beneath two vacant seats. Never breaking his stride, he moved to the forward-most compartment, past the two Nautolans so plainly disguised. He put out his call for his ride out of the deathtrap, and calmly sat down in the seat he had bought. But his ride never came. The Jedi had intercepted the agent’s get-away ship, and somewhere on the Hyperion way, in that forgotten space between the stars, hundreds of people suffocated to death, including Keego’s parents. On Coruscant, the Jedi wiped the rain from his peppered beard and walked off into the raining night, a wailing Nautolan infant wrapped in his arms. Hobbies Plays the kloo horn; is a phenomenal poker player, and uses it as a sport to hone his debate and logical thinking skills.